


Secrets and Regrets

by ceterisparibus



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Gratuitous non-wearing of glasses, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Laser Tag, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Post-Season/Series 03, Sister Maggie is a good mom, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-08 12:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16429247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: Matt figures out that he needs to talk and he actually (eventually) reaches out. Good effort, Matt.(Also, my first fanfic! Yay!)





	1. Why Am I Terrified of Everything I Used to Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt needs to tell someone the whole story. Well, almost the whole story.

He’s supposed to go out tonight, but he can’t.

The knock startles him, and the fact that it startles him startles him even more. He comes to himself standing in the middle of his apartment, eyes open now. He cocks his head, breathes in deeply, and notes all the little things that he interprets to mean "Foggy." His friend's scent, his absent-minded humming, his heartbeat.

How had Matt missed it?

He opens the door. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?”

Foggy shifts the weight of the box in his arms. “I’m bringing your stuff back.”

There’s something in his voice that Matt doesn’t quite understand. “Oh,” he says cluelessly.

Foggy pauses. Yep, Matt is definitely missing something. “It’s Wednesday,” Foggy says.

Is that important?

“Wednesday,” Foggy repeats, shifting the box’s weight again, and Matt realizes he should step aside because he’s blocking the doorway. “You know,” Foggy continues, stepping into the apartment and making his way down the hall, “the day I asked you to not go out Daredeviling because I have a crap ton of boxes with all your most worthless junk and I need you to be here to get it.”

Right. It all clicks into place now, so suddenly Matt wonders how he could’ve forgotten in the first place. They planned this, because between their collective caseload and Foggy’s commitment to Marci—Matt’s still getting used to that—and Matt’s commitment to the city each night, they haven’t been able to set aside a time for Foggy to bring back everything he’d gotten from Matt’s apartment.

And it isn’t worthless junk. Not to Foggy. Matt hadn't exactly been around to designate it as such. No, Foggy came here after—after everything, and grabbed whatever he hadn’t wanted getting sold in an estate sale.

Which, if Matt’s being honest, is one reason he hasn’t tried very hard to make this night work. He hasn’t wanted to sit here while Foggy unpacks all the parts of his life Foggy thought were sacred.

“Just leave it in the hallway, Fogs,” he’d said.

“I don’t want Fran getting your stuff,” Foggy had replied indignantly.

“It’s not a big deal. We don’t have to clear a whole night, just drop it off with me before I go out sometime.”

“No way, Murdock. I’m bringing your stupid box and I’m bringing beer, and you’re going to sit and drink it with me.”

Matt remembered sitting with Foggy at that bar, not Josie’s. He remembered standing outside, feeling the cold of the brick wall seeping through his jacket while he ran his fingers over Foggy’s stolen wallet. Yeah, okay. If Foggy wants Matt to drink with him, Matt isn’t about to refuse.

Speaking of which. “I don’t smell any beer on you.”

Foggy drops the box on the coffee table with a thud. “I can’t believe I forgot the beer. That’s the whole point of this!”

“Want some of mine?” Matt’s already rooting through his fridge. The fact that he has to root past actual food is as much a testament to Karen’s thoughtfulness as to his own efforts towards being a normal, functioning adult.

“Hit me,” Foggy says.

Matt passes him a bottle and sits down in the chair while Foggy takes the couch and opens the box. Trying to focus on anything but whatever Foggy’s pulling out, Matt alternates between listening to the sounds of New York outside and listening to Foggy talking about Marci’s latest case.

“Do you want this in the closet?” Foggy asks suddenly.

Tilting his head, Matt frowns. He can’t quite make out whatever it is he’s holding. All the stuff in the box is smothered in Foggy’s scent and the scent of his apartment, which just makes it easier to tune everything out. “What is it?”

“Your dad’s…thing.”

Just like that, Matt feels thickness in his throat. “Uh,” he says, standing up and hoping Foggy can’t tell that…he doesn’t know what. He just hopes Foggy isn’t reading anything into this, and why should he? Matt’s just standing up. No big deal.

“Matt?”

“Uh,” he repeats eloquently. “Yeah. Yeah, closet’s fine.” He opens the closet door to prove his point and kicks at the chest inside, then returns to his seat. He passes Foggy on the way as Foggy goes to put his dad’s robe away and Matt catches a whiff of it. He could reach out, touch its silk folds just for a second. Instead, he settles on the chair.

But he’s so, so tired of pretending everything is fine. And he’s talked to Karen about some things, and talked with Maggie about others, but that isn’t…that isn’t enough.

It seems selfish to need more than that, to need to tell more people about all the things that happened to him. Not to mention all the things he’s done. But he can’t shake the feeling that if he just talks to someone, tells the whole story, it might make a difference.

Maybe that’s why he’s been avoiding this night.

A loud sound by his ear startles him; Foggy’s snapping his fingers. “You in there? I asked where you wanted this.”

“What?” Foggy’s waving something else around. His dad’s Bible. Great, now Matt’s eyes are stinging.

He hears Foggy’s heartbeat tick up and he swears lightly. “I’m sorry, man, I didn’t—”

“Actually…” Matt stops. Breathes in. “Foggy, I’m not…”

Foggy moves in closer. “Not what?”

Stop talking. Please, just…don’t ask anything. Don’t say anything. Just…listen.

“Matt?”

Blinking back the moisture, Matt licks his lips once. “I, uh, I…you were right, Foggy. About, you know…me. Being changed, or—or messed up, or…whatever. I’m not, um, okay. Right now.”

“I know,” Foggy says heavily.

Matt warily tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“And that’s perfectly okay, buddy.”

Matt swallows a scoff.

“You’re allowed to not be okay. All of us—you, me, Karen—are allowed to not be okay right now.”

Fine. But to Matt’s knowledge, Foggy and Karen never…never hallucinated anything. Or....

Foggy pauses. “I’m getting the sense that I haven’t convinced you of anything.”

Verbal agreement is too much to ask; Matt nods once.

“Okay.” Foggy turns something over in his hands. Not the Bible. It’s aimless motion, anyway. “Maybe you should tell me what happened.”

“You know what happened, Foggy. Fisk was…everyone knows.”

“I don’t know what happened to you.”

“I…what do you want me to say?”

“You’re the one saying you’re not okay.” There’s a hint of frustration in his voice now, but Matt tells himself it isn’t directed at him. It’s at the whole situation. “And, frankly, I still don’t even know how you’re alive.”

“We can start there,” Matt says quietly, hating how his voice already sounds ragged in anticipation of rehashing—reliving—everything. But now that he’s started, he can’t keep himself from talking. “I mean, I don’t know how I ended up out from under Midland Circle. But someone found me. I don’t know who. Some guy. I asked for Father Lantom and I woke up in the church. Kind of woke up.”

“Kind of?”

“I was still out of it. My…my hearing was messed up I didn’t know where, uh…” he changes directions. “I don’t know, I wasn’t even conscious all the time.”

“But it came back. Your hearing came back.” Foggy sounds worried now, because what if it hadn’t?

“It did,” Matt says stiffly, and he wants nothing more than to tell Foggy about the fight, the crowbar. He also wants nothing more than for Foggy to never, ever know what he’d almost done, what he’d wanted to do, what he would have done himself if he hadn’t been so selfish a coward as to rely on someone else, to try to goad someone else into taking his life for him.

“Matt?”

Oh. He’s been sitting there in silence. “Sorry.”

“Am I missing something here?”

Yes. “No. I’m fine.” Matt clenches his jaw. “No, I’m not, obviously, but…yeah. My hearing came back.”

“I will temporarily believe your very unconvincing evasion. Is your hearing still, you know, super? It’s not, like, fading in and out?”

“Yeah. No problems.” Matt is certainly dreading the next cold he’ll get, but that isn’t an immediate concern.

“Did something happen while you were at the church, before Karen dragged you out to find me?”

“After I stole your bar card, you mean?”

Fogy exhales slowly. “Listen, buddy. That was…not gonna lie, that was really weird. But even though it’s not really fair for you to excuse our own behavior by claiming that you weren’t you or something—”

“I know,” Matt whispers.

Ignoring this, Foggy pushes on: “I can make the distinction for you. And I do. And I forgive you.”

“Thanks.” Matt clears his throat again. “Thanks, Foggy.”

“And, frankly, I don’t know how you afforded that other wallet. It’s great.”

It wouldn’t be unthinkable for Foggy to make a joke about Matt stealing it, but Matt honestly doesn’t think he could handle that right now. Foggy doesn’t say anything else and Matt just shrugs. He still doesn’t deserve the thanks.

Foggy’s breath hitches as he prepares to say something else. “I know you went to a prison. I know there was some kind of fight.”

Matt laughs before he could top himself. “If you can call it that. Our client punched me because I was trying to push him into telling me about the Albanians. Which…” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about that too. I shouldn’t…I’m his attorney, I shouldn’t have…”

“Interjection,” Foggy cuts in. “No more apologizing for anything in the rest of this conversation, okay? What happened at the prison?”

“The nurse drugged me, Fisk called me, the guards—”

“Fisk called you?”

“On a prison phone. That’s when I knew he was figuring out that I’m Daredevil.”

“Geez.”

“He unlocked everything, though, which was considerate of him. I ran into an Albanian on the way out. He’s the one who told me about Jasper.” He pauses. He doesn’t want Foggy to freak out of the next bit, but, let’s be honest, it was pretty cool, considering he survived it. “I got out of there, but Fisk replaced my cab driver and I didn’t notice until—”

“How would you of all people, not notice that Fisk replaced a person?”

“Drugged,” Matt reminds him. “Anyway, he drove the cab into the Hudson.” He forces a grin. “Brutal, right?”

“Geez, Matt,” Foggy says, but he’s laughing, and it sounds so nice.

Suddenly, Matt is determined to ride this wave of relative happiness and just get everything out. Almost everything, anyway. “I also found my mother.”

Foggy chokes. “You what?”

Yeah, he suspected Karen hadn’t told Foggy, and he appreciates that. He’ll have to thank her later. “She’s a nun, actually, at the place where I was raised. Didn’t know it at the time, of course. Well. I didn’t know it.”

“But she did,” Foggy says quietly.

All the humor is gone, along with most of the air from the room. “She did.”

“That’s not fair.”

“She, uh, she went through a lot too. I understand.”

Foggy stands up and Matt almost flinches, because it’s obvious Foggy’s angry. “No, you don’t, and I hope you never do, because that’s messed up.”

Matt hesitates. “Okay,” he admits quietly. “I still don’t understand why she would do that for…for so long. And even when I came back, she didn’t tell me. I only found out because I heard her praying about it. But that’s not the point, all right? That’s between me and her. I just wanted you to know because…because…”

“Because it’s a pretty significant life event, finding your mother after thirty-something years?”

“Yeah.” Matt closes his eyes briefly. “That. Thank you, Foggy, for listening. I just…had to tell someone, I think. Someone who didn’t already know parts of it.”

“It’s an honor you’d tell me this stuff. Not just because, yeah, some of it is insanely cool. Like you fighting your way out of a prison while you were drugged up.” Foggy sits back down, but he sits on the arm of Matt’s chair so that his arm is against Matt’s shoulder. “Anything else, buddy? Anything you may have forgotten to tell me?”

It’s a line they use with clients at the end of an initial interview. They’ve heard most of the facts, but they want to make sure the client isn’t leaving something out. It’s one last chance for the client to remember something they’d forgotten, but it’s also one last chance for the client to rethink keeping a secret.

He thinks of the crowbar and he thinks of his hands on Fisk’s neck. He thinks of every lie he’d let himself believe about God. He thinks of the fact that Father Lantom knew Maggie’s secret and never told Matt the truth, and Matt never forgave him for it while he was still alive.

A tear runs down Matt’s cheek. It’s on the left side and Foggy’s on his right, so he hopes his friend didn’t see. But when he opens his mouth to answer, his lungs gulp for a breath that’s too desperate to be normal.

Now Foggy’s arm is around him. “Matt.”

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out. “I’m sorry to be so—”

“Shut up.”

Matt snaps his mouth shut and thumps his head back against the chair.

“You don’t have to tell me anything else. But, for the record, I know there’s something else. Probably lots of something elses.”

Otherwise motionless, Matt nods.

“Do you want me to leave? Give you space?”

Matt honestly doesn’t know. Having Foggy here is stressful, trying to say the right things so his friend will feel trusted without scaring him off. But being alone isn’t exactly good right now either.

“I think I should apologize,” Foggy says.

“What for?” Matt croaks.

“For forcing this onto you. You were right; I could’ve just left the box here. I can still do that. You can sort through all that stuff on your own. It’s yours, anyway. I just…” Foggy kind of laughs. “I just wanted to spend time with you.”

It’s an olive branch of sorts. Matt accepts. “I could order us food.”

“That’s what I should’ve gone with. Not a box of memories. Food!”

Matt stands up, which takes a bit of effort so as not to dislodge Foggy from his perch, and goes into the kitchen for takeout menus. They order Thai and Foggy throws food at Matt and Matt always catches it, and they’re both laughing—genuinely and consistently—until they remember they have a client coming in early tomorrow, and Karen will judge them if she thinks they’re sleep-deprived.

But Matt puts his hand on Foggy’s elbow, right where he’d put it if they were walking the streets together, before Foggy can leave. “Hey, F-Foggy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you come back sometime? I might…I might need help with the rest of that box. After all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Sleepless Nights" by Memphis May Fire. The song is a clear reflection of what I've felt struggling with depression, and I figure it fits with a lot of Matt felt (feels?) as well.


	2. Tell Me That Tomorrow When I Wake Up I'll Be Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt still struggles with suicidality, but he decides to be proactive about it.

Matt pushes the sliding door to his bedroom aside, but doesn't step over the threshold. The space stretching out ahead of him feels vacant. In that moment, every empty corner seems to press down on him.

Huh. He rests against the doorframe. It's a weekend; Foggy is with Marci and Ellison inveigled Karen into some kind of party or get-together. He doesn't need to see either of them for at least two days. 

He thinks of the knives in his kitchen.

He could end things right now and neither Foggy nor Karen would even know. They’d have an extra day or two to imagine nothing had changed. That could be his gift to them.

Matt stands up abruptly. Not good. He…he's supposed to be past all of this by now. Gritting his teeth, he starts to run his hand through his hair and stops when he feels how dirty it is. He tries to swallow, but his mouth is parched. When he closes his eyes, he can smell his own sweat, the old food in his kitchen, the dirty laundry in his bedroom…and he's so tired, too tired to go out tonight. What is even the point….

He snaps his eyes open. “Get over yourself,” he whispers to the empty room. He's too disgusting to go anywhere, but he grabs his jacket and cane anyway.

Get out, get away, get help. Before this place kills him.

He pulls out his phone as he steps into the hallway outside his apartment. “Text Maggie,” he tells it.

\- - -

She's waiting for him outside the church. He senses the energy thrumming through her body, energy she spends serving the Lord and His people and energy that she now restrains around him. Just in case he doesn't want it.

He still can't decide if he appreciates that or not.

“How are you, Matthew?” she asks once he's drawn near.

He leans on his cane. “Please don’t ask me that.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Would you like to come in?”

“Actually, I was hoping we might be able to walk around somewhere.” If he sits still in front of someone like her, someone who wants to listen, there's the distinct possibility that he'll end up in tears at some point.

“No problem. How does this work?”

“How does what work?”

“I mean…” her skin flushes slightly. “Do you want me to lead you?”

He feels himself smile and doesn’t mind that she can see it. “Yeah. That’d be great. Just, uh, let me take your arm.” He takes her elbow, a little stiffly maybe, and how is he still surprised by how small she is?

They walk in silence for a bit and he pretends he isn’t nervous until the nerves fade.

“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” she asks.

He smirks. “Probably.”

She whacks his arm. “Don’t give me that, Murdock. Tell me what you sense of it.”

He breathes in deeply. “It feels nice. A little cold, but I can hear all the leaves crunching when people walk. The branches rub together with the wind. There’s a hint of rain in the air, too. It smells good.”

“And what about the stuff that doesn’t smell so good? This is New York.”

He laughs. “Yeah, well, I figured you didn’t want to know about the garbage. Or the people fighting over politics a block or so over. Lots of cursing, lots of logical fallacies. Great stuff.”

“Thank you for sharing.”

He laughs again, and points out more things as they walk. The good and the bad: a cat hidden in the tree and a police siren in the distance; the smells of hot chocolate and coffee mingling together and a needle someone left on the ground (she covers her hand with her habit and picks it up to throw it away).

“You said at one point that I was going to get myself killed,” he says suddenly, “doing what I do.”

He can practically hear her eyebrows rise incredulously. “When you picked a fight knowing you didn’t have your hearing back, you mean?”

“You asked if that was what I wanted.”

She's quiet.

“You were right,” he says. “For the record.”

“I’m sorry, Matthew.”

“Don’t be. That was…we both know there were extenuating circumstances. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t say it was,” she says calmly. “But I’m sorry you went through that.”

“Ah.” He sweeps his cane in front of him even though he knows there's nothing there. “That’s the thing, though. I thought I’d…gotten through it.”

“But you still feel that way?” Her voice is so steady that he can almost ignore the way her heartrate spikes.

“Maybe.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

He clears his throat, which feels too tight. “Yeah.”

She's quiet for a moment. He braces himself for questions, questions he doesn’t have answers for. “I’ve felt that way before,” she says instead. “But, then, you probably figured that out.”

“Seemed a reasonable inference,” he whispers.

“I found some practical ways to help. Knowing, for instance, that you have time. You don’t have to do anything right away. If you…” her voice waveres for a second, but she pushes through it. “If you feel the need to end it, you can tell yourself that it’s too soon to tell. It could just be a momentary thought.”

“And if those…momentary thoughts…keep coming back?”

“Then you do exactly what you’ve done. You reach out to people.”

He bites his lip. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“To whom?” she asks knowingly.

He huffs a laugh. “Anyone.”

She rubs his arm. “Well, that’s a lie. I’m here for you, Matthew. Your friends are here for you.” She hesitates. “God is also here for you.”

“Sist—Maggie, you know that’s not the same thing. He can’t exactly sit down with me.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

He cocks his head. “Uh. Walking.”

“I’m not God, Matthew, and you know that better than anyone. But He uses His people to show His love. If He were here as a person, I think He’d be walking with you too. As it is, I guess He just sent me.”

“That’s not…” He sighs. “I guess I don’t really believe that.”

Leaning a bit closer, she brushes her head against his arm just below his shoulder, but only for an instant. “Accepting God’s love from other people is an act of faith. You don’t have to believe it; you just have to do it.”

He presses his lips together in something imitating a smile.

“…I take it you didn’t come for a theological debate.”

“Not today, no.”

“I can try to—”

“You don’t need to fix this, M-Maggie.” He stumbles over her name. Calling her “Mom” would be one syllable instead of two—why can't he just say it?

“I’d like to fix this. I don’t want to see you hurting.”

There's no lie in her heartbeat, but that doesn't change the fact that she saw him hurting for years and never did anything more than the bare minimum to help him. He grits his teeth, wishing he could just accept what she's saying and doing now instead of letting the past stain her every word and action.

When he still doesn't say anything, she adjusts her grip on his arm. “I think we’ve gotten sidetracked.”

“Probably.”

“Do you want to come back to the church for a while, where I can keep an eye on you?”

“What? No. I’m not…it’s not that bad.” He isn't that desperate to kill himself. “It’s just…thoughts in my head. I haven’t…I haven’t even tried anything. Since…the first time.”

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”

His skin grows warm and he hopes she can't feel it through his sleeve. “Yeah, well.”

“Have you considered medication?”

This was a mistake. “You’re not just gonna tell me to pray more?”

“I certainly think more prayer would do you good, but so would medication.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Which one, prayer or medication?”

“Mom,” he says in exasperation, then snaps his mouth shut when he realizes what he just said.

He hears her breathing hitch as she starts to say something, but she stops herself. She stops walking too, so he also has to stop for fear of dragging her.

Slowly, he turns to face her.

“I can recommend some medications,” she goes on determinedly, voice only wavering a little despite the salt he can smell from the tears gathering in her eyes. “It might be trial and error for a while, but eventually we could—”

“Mom,” he interrupts, and then somehow he ends up with his face pushed into her neck and her arms around him. There's more salt in the air and her skin is moist from his tears and he's afraid he might knock her over when he shudders in her embrace.

“Oh, Matty,” she breathes into his ear. “Matty, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”

He presses himself closer. “I love you too, Mom.”

Her hand runs through his dirty hair. “You’ll get through this,” she whispers fiercely. “You will.”

“I know. I know.” He pulls back a little and draws in an unsteady breath. “Mom, listen to me. I…I forgive you.”

She makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I wish I were tall enough to kiss your forehead.”

Snorting, he pulls off his glasses and wipes his eyes. “I wish my paperwork didn’t always smell like cured meats, but here we are.”

“You’re still working out of the Nelson’s shop, then?”

He wraps his hand around her arm again and it feels normal. “Yeah, for now. There’s a lot of research and paperwork to do, since Foggy is still technically employed by HC&B and I was kind of…nonexistent, for a while there.” He shrugs. “I mean, it shouldn’t be a problem. The New York Bar knows about Fisk and it knows how involved we were trying to stop him, so it makes sense that any, uh, discrepancies—I mean, where I’m concerned—can be explained by Fisk’s manipulations, not by any, uh, alternative lifestyle I might be engaged in.”

“Oh, very convincing.”

“But once all that’s taken care of, we’ll officially be back to our own office. With actual offices. You know, one for each of us, with privacy for our clients.”

“A butcher’s shop doesn’t exactly lend itself to attorney-client confidentiality?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Well, what about attorney-attorney confidentiality?”

He frowns. “What?”

“Your friend. Foggy.” She still says it like she isn't quite sure that people actually call him by that nickname. “I’m glad you reached out to me, Matthew, and I want you to promise me you’ll do it again, especially if things get worse.”

“I will,” he says, and hopes he won't make himself a liar.

“But I think you should tell Foggy too. Tell him what you’re struggling with.”

He's already shaking his head. “I can’t. He doesn’t even know about the first time.”

“And why not?”

“Because I…” Matt trails off uncertainly, trying to make sense of everything he feels at the mere thought of telling Foggy about that night. Shame for what he’d done, guilt because he knew Foggy would worry, fear that maybe Foggy wouldn’t worry enough because maybe Foggy privately thinks things would be better if Matt had just taken that crowbar to the head like he was supposed to.

“Matthew,” Maggie snaps. “Get out of your head.”

He breathes out through his nose, swallowing the temptation to snap back at her. She's just trying to help.

“I think you should tell Foggy. I think he’d want to know and I think it’ll help.”

Matt doesn't really mean to say it, but it slips out pathetically: “But what if it doesn’t?”

She reaches up and he has plenty of time to evade her touch, but he lets her brush some of his hair back out of his face. “Let him be your friend. Let him help you.”

“And, let me guess, accept God’s love through him?”

Her hand briefly cups the side of his face. “That’s the spirit.”

He isn't sure that he should and he's even less sure that he can. But he came to her for a reason, didn't he? “Okay,” he says quietly. “I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Sleepless Nights" by Memphis May Fire. 
> 
> Inspired by LikeHeroesWhoHaveToTrain's comment. I was supposed to jump straight to the next scene with Matt and Foggy, but this happened instead. Whoops.


	3. Is There Something that I'm Learning from This?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I guess Matt feels the need to do something for Foggy in exchange for baring his own soul.

The thing is, Foggy thought he’d left the awkwardly-living-with-your-parents-as-an-adult phase behind him years ago. Sure, he came home for holidays while he was in law school, but that just meant his mother’s priority was making sure he got loaded down with enough food and weird-smelling sweaters to survive the next semester.  Now, though? Now he has both his parents _and_ Theo looking over his shoulder, scrutinizing the hours he puts in, and making painful small talk with his clients. He told his family that under no circumstances could they try to induce any of his clients into buying deli products, but his clients can’t exactly talk about why they’re here to see Foggy. Which pretty much leaves the weather as the only viable conversation topic.

Foggy can’t wait to get their own place again.

His contract with HC&B left room for him to give notice and move out, but there’s the sticky problem of clients. Some want to stay with Foggy, some would rather let HC&B find them other counsel. For the most part, Foggy doesn’t really care. On the one hand, those clients can pay in something more substantial than chickens. On the other, very few of them showed signs of owning a soul. All in all, he kind of just wants Jerry to handle the decision-making and leave him to rebuild his life at Nelson, Murdock, & Page.

He’s alone in the office, just putting the finishing touches on a motion to extend discovery—they’re a small firm; they need all the extension they can get—when he hears the tap-tap of Matt’s cane in the hallway.

“Hey, buddy.” He stands up, shuffling the papers in his binder. “Thought you weren’t coming in today. Didn’t Karen tell you to stay off your knee?” Because Matt hurt it being a hero and Karen found out. Foggy still isn’t sure what she threatened him with, but she’d gotten him to agree to stay home today.

Or so Foggy thought.

“Is your schedule clear tomorrow night?”

Is Matt Murdock actually initiating interactive activity? “It is if you can convince Marci I’m not cheating on her with you.”

Matt makes a face. Foggy still can’t tell if he _actually_ dislikes Marci or just dislikes, you know, everything Marci stands for. Or used to stand for. “I can try.”

“Then I’m all yours, buddy.”

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Don’t tell Karen I was here. Oh, and Foggy?”

“Yeah?”

“Wear something you can run in.”

Foggy drops his binder. “I’M NOT CHASING CRIM—” he cuts himself off when he remembers there are other ears in this building, and Matt will hear him either way. “I’m not chasing criminals with you, Murdock,” he hisses, to no response.

\- - -

“Laser tag,” Foggy says blankly. The flashing lights and clanging sounds from the arcade behind him are giving him a headache, but the abyss in front of him, lit by back lights, is more ominous.

“Uh-huh.” Matt fiddles with the strap on his cane. “I reserved the room for us for about two hours. Actually, Sister Maggie did. The place has some kind of discount for youth group events.”

“We’re not a youth group.”

He shrugs. “She neglected to tell the manager that the kids she’s bringing are all under the age of six and definitely too short to meet the height requirement. They’ll hang out in the arcade and win stuffed animals and, I don’t know, play put-put golf.”

“While we engage in strenuous physical activity. Are you trying to make me embarrass myself?”

“Actually, I thought laser tag might even the playing field between us, since I can’t sense lasers. I mean, I kind of can if I focus, but it’s really hard.”

Foggy squints suspiciously. “Your knee.”

“Don’t tell Karen,” he says quickly. “I just…I thought it would be fun.”

“That’s a lot of conniving and conspiring just for a night of fun.”

Matt shrugs again.

All right, Murdock, keep your secrets. But Foggy’s not an idiot. There’s some ulterior motive here.

Also, if Matt really wants to butter Foggy up, he should’ve suggested softball. Then again, Matt would probably turn out to be better at it. Maybe it’s best that they avoid softball indefinitely. Let Foggy keep this _one_ thing.

A few rounds into laser tag, though, and Foggy is not convinced that lack of sight makes any difference whatsoever as to Matt’s laser tag abilities. The guy’s a ninja, and Foggy can’t exactly hide from someone who can hear his heartbeat. Especially because Foggy’s heartbeat isn’t exactly very quiet right now with all this running around nonsense he’s engaged in.

They made a point of letting Foggy forego the target strapped to his chest, because that would make it way too easy. Now Foggy only has to worry about keeping the sensors on his arms, gun, and helmet away from Matt’s laser. Still easier said than done.

But Matt is obviously having so much fun that Foggy can’t bring himself to complain. He looks happier than a kitten with a string, bouncing out from behind cover to fire off a shot, then scuttling back into the dark. They aren’t allowed to run, but Foggy could’ve sworn Matt flipped up over a rail at some point, trying to get to the second level faster.

Ridiculous.

But for all else, Matt can’t aim with much precision when Foggy keeps moving. He can’t see the lasers so he has no way to tell how close he is to his target. Foggy, on the other hand, is actually pretty good at aiming. Provided that Matt stands still long enough. Which he doesn’t do often—his energy is apparently limitless. But he sometimes falters if Foggy makes a particularly outrageous comment at just the right moment, and if Foggy’s good at anything, it’s talking. And comedic timing. And shocking Matt Murdock in general.

Foggy’s good at a lot of things, actually.

“So I took Marci to that Thai place you like,” Foggy announces.

His shoulder pad vibrates as Matt scores a hit. “Stop trying to distract me,” he says in a low voice from a corner. He’s wrapped halfway around the pillar in a way that’s probably breaking a regulation somewhere.

Foggy shoots back; Matt doges out of the way; Foggy pursues, maintaining a stream of fire and forcing Matt to keep dodging instead of returning fire. “We discussed our prenup,” he goes on.

That was just part of the buildup to his real point, but Matt’s apparently thrown by that, because he almost trips. Not quite, but his movement is just imperfect enough for Foggy to land a hit.

 “She says she wants custody of you.”

“Objection,” Matt grumbles as another hit lands and one of his sensors lights up.

“She wants custody and she wants a dog and it’s all in the contract. Nothing either of us can do about it now.”

Matt drops and rolls, somehow managing to not smash the sensors, springing up to shoot at Foggy, but Foggy covers his own sensor with his hand. Which is cheating; sue him. “Tell me you at least got something good in return.”

“I get her Kohl’s Cash and the futon.”

Matt vaults over another railing, but he’s laughing. “I can’t decide if I’m more offended that you traded me for Kohl’s Cash or for the futon.”

“I know what you mean, man. You’re worth at least two futons. But it is a nice futon. Although you probably wouldn’t like it, since it smells like Marci and me and all the times we—”

“Shut-up-shut-up-shut-up!”

Foggy scores five more hits and almost wins that round. Overall, Matt wins three out of five before they stop for a break. Foggy makes sure to groan loudly as he sits on a stool at a table where two glasses of water are waiting for them. “We should get you one of those treadmill workstations so you can burn off all this energy at work. Also, for the record? I don’t know what you think even footing is, but that wasn’t it.”

“I tried,” Matt says blithely.

“Why did you, by the way? Not that I don’t appreciate the very thoughtful if shortsighted attempt.”

Matt opens his mouth.

“If you make a joke about shortsighted, I will stab you with this flimsy plastic straw.”

“Sounds painful.” Matt touches his glass, drawing some kind of pattern in the condensation. “Actually, I kind of hoped we could…talk.”

Foggy’s about to make some quip, but he catches the look on Matt’s face. He looks…is scared the right word for Matt Murdock? Not going to be a fun conversation, then. Why Matt felt the need to preface it with laser tag, Foggy may never know.

“Sure, buddy,” he says, knowing Matt probably sensed him analyzing him and knowing Matt appreciates him keeping his voice steady anyway. He’s tired, and itchy from sweat, and feels like he’s already sore from running around so much (is that a biological thing?) but Matt clearly needs his undivided attention.

“You knew, back when you brought that box of my stuff, that there were still things I hadn’t told you.”

“And you don’t have to tell me everything,” Foggy says quickly.

“Right, I know, but…I want to.

Foggy arches one eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

Matt sighs. “You’re giving me that look, aren’t you.”

“What look?”

“The one where you don’t believe me, but you’re reserving judgment until I confirm my own insanity or something.”

“It’s ridiculous that you’ve categorized the looks I give you that you can’t see.”

“It’s ridiculous that you give me looks that you know I can’t see.”

“They’re not _looks_. They’re expressions. I can’t help it.”

“You didn’t give that look to Judge Mosk.”

“Because Mosk would skin me and our client alive.”

“So you _can_ help it. I rest my case.”

Foggy groans again. “Be an adult. I’m begging you.” Then he blows a paper straw at Matt, who graciously lets it hit him in the face. “So,” Foggy says, trying not to sound like he’s steering Matt into some kind of introspective trap. “You wanted to tell me something? Or lots of somethings?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, and he almost sounds convincing.

“ _You_ want to,” Foggy clarifies pointedly.

Matt surrenders. “It was Sister Maggie’s idea. She thought…it would be good for me.”

“Obviously, because I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

He smiles a little, but it’s strained. “I also thought it, um, might be something you deserve to know. Since you hate my secrets and all. But…” the smile disappears, replaced by earnestness. “I don’t want to burden you with this, Foggy. I swear, it’s my problem to deal with. Not yours.”

“That right there, Murdock? That’s the kind of thing you don’t get to decide for me.”

Matt picks up the straw wrapper that must’ve fallen in his lap and starts fidgeting with it. “Right. Sorry.” He visibly takes a deep breath and, just when Foggy’s sure he’s about to finally spit it out, stops again. “If this is too personal, I—”

“Matt,” Foggy snaps, and instantly regrets it.

Matt stiffens, hands going still.

How can one man be this dramatic and this vulnerable at the same time? Foggy narrows his eyes at his best friend. Matt sought him out; Matt set this up; Matt clearly has a plan. An objective in mind. If Foggy just lets him talk, he’ll talk. Probably.

“Should I get us some drinks?” Foggy asks, going for a gentler tone. He thinks this arcade has alcohol somewhere, probably.

Matt shakes his head. “Nah. Probably better that I’m sober for this. Go ahead if you want to, though.”

That. That can’t be a good sign. “I’m listening,” Foggy says very carefully.

Still, Matt hesitates. “You have to understand. I was…messed up. Broken. You know that, but I don’t know if you really understand that.”

“I know you wanted to kill Fisk. I mean, no, I wanted to kill Fisk too. But you kind of put the ‘meditate’ in premeditated murder.”

“My hands were on his neck, Foggy.”

His stomach flips.

“I was that close. In his hotel. I could’ve…it would’ve been so _easy_ …”

No, not easy. Definitely not easy. “You didn’t,” Foggy says firmly. But then, the point of this isn’t just what Matt did or didn’t do, is it? It’s whether this core part of Matt is restored, or still cracked. But Foggy isn’t sure how to ask about that without getting weirdly personal.

Then again, this whole conversation is already too weirdly personal without alcohol. They had their fair share of philosophical and religious debates in the dorms together, but it was all theoretical at the time. “Have you talked with Sister Maggie about this?” Because if Matt wants someone to bounce ideas off of, Foggy’s happy to oblige. But he maybe isn’t the best equipped, especially if Matt wants to argue against his own personal worldview.

“Some.”

Good. So Foggy decides to just go for it. “You didn’t kill him, but do you wish you had?”

“No,” Matt says immediately.

“Are you worried you’ll wish you had?”

“No.”

Foggy decides to push a little. Just to see. “Because, I mean, it’s Fisk. He of all people deserves—”

“It’s not about Fisk. It’s not about whether he deserves it. That would make me the judge, and the whole point is that I’m not. I shouldn’t be. Everything with, uh, with Father Lantom and…my mom…” (he barely stutters over the word, and Foggy’s so proud of him) “…it reminded me that people are flawed, but their mistakes can be redeemed. So it makes sense that people themselves can be redeemed.”

Okay. Good. That sounds like Matt.

But Matt starts twisting the wrapper together even more urgently than before, which Foggy hadn’t thought possible. His friend’s leg is also vibrating, at least from what Foggy can see.

“I’m guessing there’s something else.”

Matt’s mouth twitches in something _almost_ like a smile. “Kind of.”

“You sure you don’t want drinks?” he asks hopefully.

“You know alcohol is a depressant.”

Oh. _Oh_. Not like that ever mattered to Matt before, but hey, yay for healthier life choices. “Strike that.” He leans closer. “Okay. Asking honestly here. Do you think you can just tell me, or do I need to try to dig it out of you?”

“I…” the words seem to die in his throat.

Time to establish some context, then. But gently. Do not break the witness. Do not break the vigilante. “Did this happen, whatever it was, after Fisk was released?”

Matt licks his lips. “Before. While I was at the church.”

Look at that: Matt’s volunteering his own facts. Time to try a more open-ended question, then. “What happened at the church?”

“My hearing was gone. I couldn’t…I tried to fight. Father Lantom found me a sparring partner—”

“Wait, what?” Foggy exclaims. Then he puts up a hand. “You know what? I have a lot of questions there, but none of them are relevant here. Keep going.”

Matt slides his sunglasses from his face. “I could still hear enough. I could still hear the sirens…and p-people screaming. But I knew I couldn’t help any of them like I used to. I, uh, I went out anyway.”

That was clearly supposed to be significant, but Foggy didn’t get it.

“There was an attempted kidnapping. I stopped it. But then I…I could’ve left.” He moves his hand to his sunglasses, rubbing a finger over the frame.

Now Foggy gets it and he feels sick. “You wanted them to…to…” he’s a _lawyer_ ; he can be strong and not horrified; he can say this dispassionately, never mind that this is his best friend saying he’d gone out hoping to get _beaten_ to death.

Matt ducks his head in something like a nod, but keeps his face angled towards the table—away from Foggy. “Yeah. A cop was patrolling, so they scattered. But, uh…”

But if the cop hadn’t been there.

Foggy keeps careful control of his breathing. Do not lose calm. Do not make Matt feel worse than he clearly does already. “You’re still here, buddy. And I’m so glad.”

Matt works his jaw and says nothing.

Because this new thing has to be worse than the Fisk thing, or he would’ve started with it instead. But is killing yourself really worse than killing someone else? Foggy isn’t sure on the religious technicalities, but assuming that suicide isn’t somehow a worse sin, that means….

“This is still going on,” Foggy says.

Matt sits very still.

Foggy’s heart breaks. He wishes he could put it into words, the sadness he feels, but he knows Matt well enough to know that any attempt would only make Matt feel guilty. But the thought of Matt not finding life worth living, and the fact that Foggy can’t just fix this…well, Foggy’s heart was already broken, and now helplessness is breaking it again.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says.

“Don’t be.”

“I _am_. I shouldn’t…God, I should know better.”

“Really, Matt? Because your life has just been so wonderful?”

Matt’s sightless gaze hardens. “Don’t,” he warns.

“It’s not stupid for you to feel this way,” Foggy insists. “In fact, I think it’d be weirder if you didn’t. You went through…awfulness. And you’re still here, which is kind of a miracle, but just think. If you went through all that and were the same as you were before, you know what we’d call that? Psychopathy. Or something.”

Matt presses his lips together but doesn't argue.

“I’m glad you told me, Matt. Will you…keep telling me?”

“I don’t know," he admits.

“Because I’d rather you tell me. I’d rather not find out because I find you—”

He slumps in his seat. “Geeze, Foggy.”

Foggy backtracks. “Just tell me. You can come crash with Marci and me, or I’ll stay at your place, and we’ll watch Netflix.” He thinks for a moment. Probably better not to stuff Matt on a couch when he’s feeling like this, with nothing but Netflix to distract him from the sirens. “Or you can take me to that gym and teach me how to box.”

That startles a laugh out of him. “Box.”

“You’ll have to be careful, though. I throw a mean uppercut.”

“I bet.”

“Thank you.” Foggy pauses. “For everything.” He pauses again. “Like, you know, laser tag.”

Something flashes across Matt’s face, all the feelings he’s still not ready to put into words. “No problem.”

Foggy can’t take it anymore. He gets off the stool. “I’m gonna hug you.” He waits, expecting Matt to wave it off or turn away or, worse, stiffen and endure it.

But to Foggy’s amazement, Matt slides off his own stool. “Okay.” And when Foggy wraps his arm around his friend, Matt accepts the embrace and returns it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title, as always, from "Sleepless Nights" by Memphis Mayfire.
> 
> Thank you, all you lovely readers, for making my first venture into fanfiction so wonderful!

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Secrets and Regrets" by Pillar


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